


Captured

by Definitisied



Category: Eddsworld - All Media Types
Genre: Blood and Gore, Cannibalism, Character Death, Dark, Fucked Up, Gen, Murder, Torture, a fuck tone of blood, if you dont like gore dont read
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-27
Updated: 2019-01-28
Packaged: 2019-03-10 00:57:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13493472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Definitisied/pseuds/Definitisied
Summary: Tord’s version of strap was stabbing a giant fish hook into his hand.





	1. Chapter 1

The cell was dark, a slither of orange light crept from under the door, almost reaching out in desperation to destroy the bleak atmosphere of the suffocatingly dark cell. The click of footsteps from the corridor was loud, bouncing along the walls and slipping under the door and into the cell. Almost as if it wanted to tease him about his pathetic situation.

The door opened silently, as expected of such an organized facility. The orange light was almost blinding to Tom’s eyes, they had grown sensitive from nearly a week in almost complete darkness.  
Afraid of what Tom might find he moved to the corner of the cell and tried to stay as small as possible. A tall and imposing silhouette appeared in the doorway. “Thomas, get up” the voice was much, much worse than the boom of the footsteps. The strong Norwegian accent was familiar, far too familiar for Tom’s liking.  
“Thomas, I know this may come as a bit of a shock to you that I’m alive. But get the fuck up, I don’t have time for this” the stupid commie closed his eyes in frustration. Almost as if he was wasting his time. Like even talking to Tom was beneath him.

Tom may want to rip out Tord’s throat and skin him alive, but he wasn’t stupid. He had barely moved in the past week and he was starving, literally. He was far too weak to disobey no matter how much he wanted to. Not only was he at a huge disadvantaged, but the large blue trench coat and that fucking hat gave off a sense of superiority that was frankly intimidating and downright terrifying when Tom got a glimpse of a bloody robotic arm.

So, with much struggle, Tom pulled himself up with the help of the grooves on the wall. He wobbled like a newborn horse trying to follow its mother. Except in this situation his mother was a very intimidating and frustrated Tord in full army uniform, playing with the trigger of the gun on his belt. Tom should probably hurry up.   
So with a few unsure steps, he made his way to the doorway. Tord turned around and started walking before Tom was out the door, but with a few small mishaps he eventually caught up with the large brute. Tord didn’t say anything as they walked down the corridor.   
“Uhh, quick question: why am I not handcuffed? I'm a prisoner, am I not?” it came out a bit shaky but it still held a slight spark of sarcasm. Apparently enough for Tord to whip around and grab him by the throat, hoisting him up with ease making Tom started to riggle in discomfort. Tord let out a dry laugh, it was cold, there was no emotion behind it.  
“Classic. Stupid. Tom.” It came out in an almost whisper and as the last word left Tord’s lips he dropped him, onto the cold concrete floor. Tom let out a slight unintentional whimper as a hit the floor with a smack. 

Unsteady he pulled himself back up and followed after Tord. He was a little more skittish after that, wheezing as he desperately tried to make up for the few seconds of missed oxygen. Now that his eyes were a bit better adjusted he used the long walk to observe Tord.

Tord didn't really walk, he marched. Hands clenched together behind his back and head held high. He would have looked regal if the right half of his face wasn’t burnt to a crisp. It looked as though rivers of fire had chaotically danced over his skin. A glorious ballroom left to ruins as the monstrous heat had ripped the roof off and scorched the marble floor. No one could ever dance in that ballroom again. 

Tord also wore a black eye patch over his right eye, almost as if he was a pirate. Tom might’ve cracked up at the thought of Tord dressed up as a pirate if he wasn’t walking in front of him in all his communist glory. Tom also noted that the commie was particularly pale, he looked almost white despite being under bright orange lights.  
Eventually, they reached a large metal door, no light looked like it could escape from its airtight seal. And, Tom assumed, neither could noise. He gulped as Tord grew a small smile. “I do hope you enjoy what I have in store for you Thomas, it has taken a while to build a room so...private” Tord opened the door as he talked. Tom couldn’t see anything as he walked into the room. He assumed Tord had come in as well as he heard the door slam behind him.

He took a moment for his eyes to adjust, but even after a few minutes, he couldn't see anything. It also occurred to him that Tord hadn't said anything in the full five minutes he’d been in the room. Experimentally, he called out.  
“Hello?” Immediately he felt cold metal on the back of his head. He tried to turn his head to see what it was. “Wha-”  
“Don’t move, or I pull the trigger” No name calling, no half-hearted chuckle, no emotion. Tom knew Tord would pull the trigger if he moved, he was being serious this time. His breathing sped up slightly as he tried not to freak the fuck out with a gun pressed against the back of his head.   
There was a small click and a light turned on. What sat in front of Tom scared him more than the gun against his head.

A large metal table was tilted at an angle, it sat near the back of the room and multiple chains hung off it. The chains had what looked like a fish hooks at the end of them, though they looked like they were made of a much thicker metal than usual fish hooks. A much smaller metal table sat a few feet from the large angled table, an assortment of painful looking instruments was piled atop it. There was also a cupboard that spanned the length of the wall, he didn’t want to know what was in there. 

In the corner of the room, there was a small wooden table, with a single spoon sitting in the middle. The dark oak table looked out of place in the cold lab-like atmosphere and the spoon handle was decorated with a meticulously detailed flower pattern. It looked like something you might find in a little old ladies house, not a torture room or whatever this place was.  
“Lean against the table at the back” the instructions came out cold and clear, the gun was pressed harder against his head to reinforce the threat.

Carefully he walked over to the brightly lit table, he turned around and leaned against it gently. Tord had the gun pointed at his head the entire time. He harshly pressed it right between his eyebrows as he growled more orders. “You're going to stay still while I strap you on, I‘ll shoot you in the shoulder if you struggle or if you make a noise” Tord had his face shoved in Toms, their noses were almost touching and the small distance between them gave Tom a closer look at his eye. 

Tord's remaining eye was bloodshot, the veins ran rivers, creating into streams and then spreading so thinly over the rest of the eye you could barely see the smaller veins. His grey iris seemed to have darkened, yet remaining stripes of the original light grey were scattered throughout the significantly darker grey. It almost looked like lightning scattered through raging storm clouds, it didn’t fit Tord’s current cold demeanor at all. Although it didn't fit Tord, it did fit Tom’s growing sense of panic that was quickly becoming a storm in its own right.

His panic was all but heightened as he felt a sharp stab of pain in his palm. In all his thinking he had failed to notice Tord moving over to his left arm. Tord had adjusted it so it was stretched towards the corner of the table and had begun to ‘strap’ him in.

Tord’s version of strapping was stabbing a giant fish hook into his hand.  
“WHAT THE FU-“  
His swear was cut off by the loud bang of the gun and then a searing pain in his right shoulder.  
“What did I tell you about struggling or making a noise?” Tom had to bite back a sarcastic comment at that, knowing it would surely get his other shoulder shot. 

The blood from the shot wound quickly spread through his trademark blue hoodie, the intense red was darkened into a dirty scarlet when mixed with the hoodies colour. Tom was biting his lip trying to muffle any sound of discomfort, drawing blood from biting so hard. “Let’s get that hoodie off, don’t want it stained, do we?” Tom shifted away from Tords robotic hand as he reached towards the hoodies zip. He violently ripped it down. Without any second thought Tord reaches towards the hood of the hoodie and pulled.   
The hoodies sleeves stayed on Tom’s arms, but the rest of the blood stained hoodie was in Tords hand. He had ripped it straight off. The commie threw the rags half heartedly over his shoulder, not caring where it landed. Tord quickly slid off one of the sleeves, he ripped the other one off as the hook was in the way.

“Now, let’s get on with securing you, shall we?” Tord flipped the gun in the air almost playfully. He picked up the chain on the other side of Tom, he slowly dug it into his palm. Wiggling it back and forth, partly to make sure it stayed in and partly because it made it hurt more. Once the hook had finished being dug in, Tord tugged against the hook and Tom let out a pained yelp. The alcoholic realised what he’d done and immediately decided he was fucked anyway, so he may as well.  
“FUCK YOU COMMIE BASTARD!” As soon as Tom had yelled those words two gun shots rang off. He felt the pain in his other shoulder, both bullets had landed in the same spot, so the pain was just that much worse. Blood ran down the metal table from the hole in his palm, a few drops had even reached the floor below. Tords face molded itself into a smug grin, it looked unnatural with one half of his mouth showing off purple puss-filled gums.   
Tord put his face to eye level with the fresh bullet wound, admiring the dark blood seeping from the wound. 

Tiny flecks of blood splattered around the wound stained Tom’s grey shirt. It creeped its way through the fabric, a tidal wave of red.   
Tord’s grin quickly disappeared as he stood back up. Replacing it was a small frown, almost disappointed. He leaned backwards and cracked his knuckles, clicking his wrists as he reached towards the chains hanging near his feet. Not even bothering to take off Toms shoes, he swiftly stabbed the hooks straight through the checkered-obsessed man’s feet. 

Tom tried to hold back screams while the sound of his bones snapping rung in his ears. The throbbing pain from his hands, feet and shoulders was far to much to bear. He barely noticed his bleeding lip compared to the other injuries.Tears quickly began streaming down his cheeks, a scratchy sob came soon after. If Tord heard it he didn't acknowledge it.

The Bastard was standing next to the smaller table covered in tools. He lazily picked up all sorts of scalpels and other sharp objects, observing each one with distrust. Like they would jump out and attack him at any moment.

Now that Tom thought about it it would make sense for Tord to act so irrational. You know, with the whole shooting-Tord-with-a-massive-harpoon-causing-his-robot-to-crash and all that.


	2. Chapter 2

After a moment or two of Tord deciding on a tool to use he finally picked one he was satisfied with. It was an oversized medical scalpel, with criss-crossed ridges for grip and a lethally sharp blade, it seemed perfect. 

With scalpel in his flesh hand Tord slowly approached Tom, his eyes fired rapidly over his shirt, planning each move before blade even broke skin.

He leaned forward, and ever so gently ripped a gaping hole in his shirt.  
“Don't worry Thomas, I just need to see what I'm doing so I don't puncture something like, lets say, a lung” And just like that, Tord was back to his monotonous dialogue. Although it had sounded like Tord had almost hissed out that last bit, as if trying to cover his anger but failing.

The crazed man pressed the scalpel against the flesh right near the top-edge of his ribcage and, ever so slowly, dragged it down through the soft flesh. 

The contrast between the velvety dark red and the soft pale skin was mesmerizingly beautiful to Tord. He stared with an almost blissful smile as the blood trickled down Toms chest. He got a slight spray of blood in his face as he dragged the scalpel further down, passing the rib cage. He pulled the scalpel out and let the blood still on it drip onto the floor. 

Tom lay in silent agony while Tord watched him bleed with a morbid fascination. The pain would surely have had him screaming but instead he was stuck in a shocked silence. Tom really, really didn’t want to know what the man had planned next. At the same time, he also found himself wondering if this might be even half of the pain Tord felt when he was shot out of the sky with a fucking harpoon. He realised, that maybe, in some twisted way, this was Tords way of expressing his misery. It was sad to think that he was so broken because of him, his mind had been so distorted by so much anger and pain that he had resorted to borderline torture. Tom wondered if Tord had been so strong of mind before the robot crash, how long would it take for his own already disastrous mental state to worsen?

Tord had been the champion fighting bull, winning despite the rigged odds. Tom had been a frail calf watching from the sides. Now Tord had been butchered and packaged to be sold on supermarket shelves. Tom did not want to join him in the cold section of the supermarket.

After the minute or so of Tords ominous staring he again approached and ran his scalpel down the other side of his ribcage. Two mirroring lines of red were now making their way down the table and joining the now increasingly bigger puddle of blood underneath. 

Tord placed the dirty scalpel back on the small metal table, completely ignoring common hygiene standards. This time, making a much quicker decision, he picked up a jagged saw. “I’ve got to keep you on your toes Thomas, don’t take this bit too harshly. You clot much too quickly to have any fun” The alcoholic was slightly confused as to what he shouldn’t be offended by, as this entire time Tord had basking in his agony like. someone on a beach on a summer day. Also, what did it matter how fast his blood clotted?

Tom looked down to see Tord resting the saw on top of his big toe, he whimpered as it was sawed straight through. Tom could barely see the bone through the mess of flesh and blood. Tord was slightly annoyed that it had not been a clean cut, he figured if he had used a smoother blade it might have been cleaner but then the bone mightn’t have cut.

With Tom’s big toe in hand, Tord went over to the cupboard. Ever so carefully he opened the door and brought out the oddest of things, a citrus juicer. 

Tom forgot to think and instead blurted out some of the stupidest words someone being tortured could have ever said.  
“Who the hell still juices by hand any more?”  
Tord immediately pulled a shotgun out of his jacket, and shot him In the groin.

Tom let out a blood curdling shriek that curdled Tord’s blood so much that he nearly dropped the juicer and the toe. Tord glared deeply at Tom, a tired frown worming its way onto his face as Tom continued to shriek. 

Tord rolled out, yet another metal table, from the cupboard. On it was a chilled glass of water.  
“I really do hate to dilute it, but one toe simply isn't enough for a full glass of blood” At those words Tord placed the juicer on the table a prepared the toe for juicing. 

As he grinded the toe down on the apex of the juicer, stringy bits of flesh got stuck on the ridges. The bone had been grinded off a bit but just to make sure Tord stopped grinding for a moment, he lifted the toe removed the pieces of bone inside.

He put it back on and continued juicing, quite a few milliliters of blood had built up in the juicer. After Tord had finished reaping the toe of all the blood it had, he gently picked up the citrus juicer, and with all the elegance of someone dramatically imitating a swan he poured the blood into the chilled glass of water. 

Out of his coat pocket Tord pulled out a plastic swirly-straw. It looked like something Tom might have seen in the window of a novelty store, not in the coat pocket of a military leaders jacket.

Placing the swirly-straw in the glass of diluted blood he picked it up and forcefully opened Toms jaw. He shoved the straw in his mouth, and similar to how a 6 year old might close a chest, slapped it shut. “Drink” He rolled the R in an over-the-top fashion, yet the same cold tone was still behind his voice.

Tom hesitated for a moment or two, and deciding that too many moments would most likely lead to another gunshot, he began to drink.

The blood had a slight metallic taste, it might have been stronger if it wasn’t watered down, so it reminded Tom of when rust got on the inside of the cap for his Smirnoff and the alcohol had a similiar metallic taste. The blood was slightly saltier than he was used to, he cringed when he forgot to swallow after one gulp and was left with a strong salty taste in his mouth. 

It could have tasted like alcohol and Tom would still find it indescribably revolting, he was drinking his own blood. It was completely mental and the commie bastard was obviously severely deluded.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhhhhh, i know this isnt as long as the first chapter, its only a little over 1K words. This chapter got a bit more gory and i finally got around to the self-cannibalism aspect i wanted to add right about near the end. Next chapter i want to focus a bit more on bones and Tord literally making spaghetti Bolognese out of organs. I really hope you liked this and if you did please leave a comment to let me know you want more (^-^) Critiques and good reviwes fuel me but dont be afraid to be negative once in a while! Heads up this isn't edited at all cause im a lazy peice of shit.


	3. Chapter 3

As soon as he had run out of blood and the straw had started making airy noises Tord whisked the glass away. A few drops of blood had dripped from Tom’s mouth and had almost entirely coloured his lower lip a bright cherry red. 

Tord walked away and put the dirty glass back on the table, he grabbed the wooden stool that sat alone in the corner, not before picking up the grandma-esque spoon and placing the chair a few centimetres away from the airtight door, and sat down. He looked to be deep in thought, hand rested quirkily under his chin. A tiny smile was almost visible on his face, if you squinted hard enough. 

But slowly, as the minutes piled up, the smile grew wider. It was almost hard to call it a smile, with one half of the face being nearly completely mangled beyond recognition.

Tord’s smile grew quite jarringly quickly, it had grown into quite the devious grin as he let his head drop back and let out a long, loud belly laugh. His head flipped back up as he stared at Tom impatiently, like he was waiting for something.

“The effects of what your about to feel are from a drug of my own creation, it’s what I used to ‘dilute’ your drink, this is a necessary process so pleased don’t be alarmed at any hallucinations you see. Or do be alarmed, I could care less”

Tom looked at him blankly in shock, and then, suddenly, Tom was overcome with a sense euphoria as everything started to blur. Tord’s face morphed into a mish mash of colours and shapes, Tom was quickly distracted as he stared in childish wonder at the maggots inching their way across Tord’s face. They hadn’t been there a moment ago. 

Bright red bats were clawing their way across his chest. Making little puncture marks with their little claws like a pathway of blood. Despite the gory details, Tom couldn’t feel a thing. Instead he turned his head slightly and almost pouted in toddler-ish frustration. Blue butterflies flew around the room, their great wings crumbled into dust onto the floor almost instantly. A bird whistled and flew in circles around the ceiling, landing neatly between Tord’s two horn-like spikes of hair. Beady, black eyes stared back at him as a beak filled with rows and rows of needle sharp teeth let out an ear shattering screech.

His vision flickered black for a moment and all he could hear was screaming, the same screech of the demon like bird. So much screaming. For a moment he saw a bright scarlet colour shoot up into his face, and then it was back to the black void of screaming.

A loud bang went off, it felt like the noise had shaken him, he wasn’t sure how. The screeching had stopped, only to be replaced by a loud yelp that was soon followed by a series of low whimpers. They were easier to deal with than the screeching, didn’t stop them from being extremely agitating though. 

And then he was out of the void and staring up at Tord’s face, his mind hazy with confusion. Everything was fuzzy and unclear, for a moment he almost forgot who Tord was. 

“ H̷̷̷̸̴̸̴̴̸͖̅͂̑͐̕ă̶̶̷̷̸̶̷̶̷̶̡̳̭͒́͝h̸̸̷̷̵̶̶̴̵̷̴̻̣͇̓̀̏̅̒á̸̴̸̴̸̸̷̶̷̴̱͖͓̹͊ͅẖ̶̶̷̸̷̸̷͉̓ͅȃ̵̵̶̵̴̶̼͒,̸̶̷̴̶̵̶̶̵͔͉͓̇͒̉ ̷̷̸̵̶̶̶̶̵̵̵͖̟͉͓͉̂̇̈́ẙ̷̶̶̷̵̴̵̴̶̵̵̷̞̠͙̭̎͐́̋o̵̴̴̴̴̷̶̴̜͓̦͋̒ū̴̵̴̷̷̸̸̴̷̜͉̮̓̐ ̸̷̶̴̵̵̷̷̵̶̘͔̳̾͊̃̕c̶̴̵̶̵̴̵̸̷̴̶̶͖̬̾̃̃͗͜ͅͅä̶̸̴̶̷̴̵̸̵̸̷̴̢͉̳̝́̈́̍̄͜n̷̷̶̶̴̵̴̗͍̊͒'̴̴̶̷̵̴̴̶̵̡̠͔̋̓ͅt̷̴̵̸̸̷̷̶͚͎̙͂͛ ̷̶̶̸̸̷̵̴̴̬͆̀̾̓͆ē̵̶̵̴̶̸̶̸̷̴̡̮̉̍̇͘v̸̵̶̷̴̸̷̻́̌̿ė̵̶̶̵̶̴̴̷̷̴̵̴̵̢͍̻͚̰́͂͑̏n̷̷̷̷̴̵̴̷̮̗̒̑͒ ̴̵̸̸̵̵̵̸̸̡̺̮͖̳͝ṱ̶̴̴̶̶̴̴̸̸̻̜̭̈́̄e̴̷̴̴̶̵̸̵̴̛̗͇͙͐͘l̸̸̷̶̸̶̴̵̷̵̶̯̰͖̈́̄̅̽̉l̸̷̵̶̴̷̴̴̴̨̡̳̰̕ͅ ̵̷̷̴̴̸̵̵̹͊̊̕͝w̴̶̷̸̵̷̷̷̼͓̋̉ͅh̸̶̵̷̸̷̸̴̰̖̣̝͛ǎ̸̵̸̶̵̴̷̵̵̝̒̈́́͐ṭ̵̷̵̵̸̵̶̶̡̃́́ ̶̶̸̵̸̸̵̷̸͔̽͌̈̄̑I̷̵̴̵̸̴̸͙͋̈́͝'̵̶̶̸̶̶̶̵̧͍̔̌̇m̵̵̵̷̸̵̴̵̵̵̰͔͓̬̟̒͝ ̸̸̵̶̴̵̸̶̸̻̏̄̒̽͝s̷̴̸̴̷͕̆a̸̴̴̸̴̴̷̶̴̵̶̦͉̎͑̇̌̚͜ỷ̶̷̸̷̶̯i̷̵̵̷̷̸̷̵̷̹͒̈̂̂͝ǹ̵̵̸̴̶̶̸̴̵̵̸̶̙͈̗͓͐̍̚͠g̵̶̴̷̶̸̩̱͘,̴̸̴̴̵̷̵̶̸̵͓͍̥̈̈́̎̑ ̵̶̶̷̵̶̸̴̷͖̝̋͒́͠c̸̷̷̵̸̴̴̴̴̴̷̸̹͓̮͓̔͒̈̐͠a̷̴̴̷̵̸͕̋̓ň̶̸̵̵̷̸̵̷̵̠̪̜̇̒ ̴̸̵̸̴̸̷̶̸̶̼͕̗͍͈͑̇y̶̸̵̶̶̵̷̠̺̅̋o̶̴̵̴̷̸̢͆͗u̴̶̷̴̶̶̴̸̵̸̧͓̝͗͊͘͠?̴̶̴̷̵̸̵̴̝̺̂̌̐ ̴ψ̶ “ 

 

The sound was like a blur of white noise, distorted until it was unrecognisable. To Tom’s blurry mind it just reminded him of a waterfall that he had visited with his parents before they died, it was a happy memory, it brought him joy after an argument or even just a plain and simple bad day. 

Suddenly he was back at the waterfall, with one hand in his mothers and his other hand in his father's. Their arms swung back and forth as they walked towards the edge, as close as they could get to the waterfall. His mother turned down to look at him and said something, he could feel himself nod his head despite not being able to hear her over the waterfall. The world was slightly hazy, but neither the less filled with vibrancy and colour and warmth. And, of course, his parents. He felt a small smile grow on his face.

And then reality pulled him back and he was there in the isolated room. Gun shot wounds littering his body, his hands and feet punctured with hooks and one of his big toes missing. He was breathing heavily and the childish sense of wonder and curiosity had worn off, the euphoria disappearing with it. He couldn’t think properly,he was clouded with fear. He could almost feel ghost like fingers in his chest, roses growing through and around his organs, bursting through his chest and blooming in an eruption of blood and guts.

Tords face was much, much clearer now as it came into focus.

A slight blood splatter coated his face and three messy bloody fingerprints had been smudged across his right cheek. A crazed fire blazed in his one grey stormy eye, and his bright white smile had even got some blood stuck between his pearly whites.

He looked down at Tords blood stained hands, to a bright enamel plate pulled high with what looked like a very red version of pasta, meatballs and parmesan.

What he assumed was supposed to be parmesan was a light grey colour, it looked much flakier than it should have looked and there was none of the familiar perfume of parmesan there at all.

The noodles looked sort of lumpy and uneven, they looked like an odd type of mince, almost like an italian butcher had done it. The meat balls looked pretty normal for meatballs, apart from the fact that they were completely raw.

Another quite concerning factor was that a small puddle of blood seemed to have gathered underneath the pile of meat and whatever the ‘cheese’ was made of. 

It only just occurred to Tom that the meat might have been farmed quite locally, and so he turned down to look at his chest. He was very glad he couldn’t feel what he was seeing for he surely would have died of shock. Honestly he was surprised he hadn’t already but up to this point he had still been fighting strong.

As he looked down at his organs and rib cage that were exposed to the air he straight up gave up. He just wanted to fall asleep and never wake from whatever fresh hell this was. From what he could see part of a rib was missing and one or two organs looked to be missing. He really, really wanted to throw up and die.

He stared up at Tord, face painted with a tired grief-stricken expression.

Suddenly a fork was in his face, with a meatba stabbed on the prongs and pasta sitting at the back, a light sprinkle of cheese topped the nightmare meal off. The word lazily rolled off the commie bastards tongue.

“Eat”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaaaahh im sorry this took so long to come out. My depression decided to be even more of a dick than it usually is and I was kinda useless for a few days. It finally decided to calm down a bit so i shat this all out today while i still have some semblance of motivation. Next chapter is basically going to be this chapter from more of Tord's point of view, so I'm going to have to learn to make meatballs and pasta so i can write about making meatballs and pasta. 
> 
> I hope the drugged up experience thing was okay, that was completely unfamiliar territory. I dont thing this is one of my best even though ive rewritten a majority of it but here you go, hope you liked it.


	4. Chapter 4

“The effects of what your about to feel are from a drug of my own creation, it’s what I used to ‘dilute’ your drink, this is a necessary process so please don’t be alarmed at any hallucinations you see. Or do be alarmed, I could care less”

Tord watched as his little playmates shocked look quickly faded into a zoned out expression of curiosity. The drug had worked.

Viciously gleeful he went to pick up his tools of choice, a dagger and a heavy duty pair of needle and thread. 

Without the need to narrate everything Tord worked much quicker. Retrieving anything else he might need from one of the metal cupboards lining the walls. And with that he set to work.

Carefully he cut through the top of the duodenum, the smallest part of the intestine, pinching it shut with his robotic hand. Keeping the bottom of the stomach pinched shut he prepared to sow close the duodenum after removing a piece of it, placing it on a tray and then beginning to stitch the remaining pieces together. Having Thomas bleed out before he was finished would be most inconvenient.

His subject appeared to be quite heavily under the influence of the drug he had ingested, Tord decided, despite the man’s current mentality, that playfully mocking the man may add some chemistry to the situation. It couldn’t hurt to provoke someone who was already trapped, could it?  
“You can’t even hear me, can you?” he stared into Tom's eyes, and for once the void did not talk, or look, back.   
Odd.

Tord had prepared for this day for many years, as soon as he had been shot of the sky with Toms idiotic harpoon, actually. He had slowly gone insane over time, as you would if you had been horrifically injured and then had the entire weight of an army thrust upon your injured shoulders. His brain had cultivated all his rage into a complete weapon of destruction against the world and his ex friend and nemesis.

Although, as Toms organs stared back at him from their place in the man's chest, he felt more superior than he thought he ever would, he felt on top of the world. Thomas was no longer his nemesis, Thomas wasn’t even close. He had spent his years of insanity carving the world into his own image of glorious chaos, a concert of death and destruction where he was the conductor and the small pawns of this world were his glorious instruments. He had but ravaged the world into fire and destruction, making it so the mere hell below was almost a better option than above. 

Yet, Thomas was a but a mere mortal who had only yet killed the ones he’d been ordered to along side the other hundreds of millions of soldiers. 

Tord made his own orders, he had and continued to commit mass genocide, he was far more than anything his nemesis had once known him as. Through the years of death his insanity had molded him to be greater, better, stronger. Tord was Red Leader, he was a god, the most feared man on the planet, and as soon as his scientists finished his armada of ships, the known universe and the surrounding dimensions would be his as well. He would exist in every possibility.

So as he stared into Thomas’s rib cage, he knew that this was but a mere scratch on the surface of his glory, that his thirst for revenge would not be quenched by one . Edd and Matt would pay the same way Tom has, through a death of prolonged torture and pain beyond any breaking point.

So, he continued to cut and slice and mince and grate, until he was completely satisfied. The mincer had taken a good few tries and the pasta maker had required the mince to be minced at an excessive degree, but it was done. And only with a small bit of intestine for noodles and meatballs and a minuscule chunk of rib to grate on top, he had created a perfect pasta and meatballs made from his dear friend.

And now that friend would have to eat it, he would have to slurp it all down. And of course, he sprinkled in a bit of hallucination inducing powder for good measure, destroying one's sanity can strengthen a soldier. Not that Thomas would ever leave this room alive to see the battlefield again, or anywhere for that matter. 

He grabbed a fork from the cupboard and stabbed it into the food, making sure to get a bit of everything. Tom would be coming back to reality much sooner than later.

It was but a few mere minutes afterwards that Tom returned from his mind and into reality, only to stare at him as though Tord was the grossest thing he’d ever seen. Tom was so close to death now that it seemed if he reached just a bit farther he would fall down into hell, so Tord refrained from any punishment.

He raised the fork of ‘food’ towards Tom. “Eat.” He didn’t put much care into the word, he didn’t need to, it was just one word.

Hesitantly, Tom took a bite of the fork, his face immediately scrunching up. There was a simple but awkward silence as he began to chew, so slow that it might have been painful to Tord if the man hadn’t already dealt with stupid ‘feelings’ and ‘impatience’. He supposed he should be taking joy in this revenge, and joy was an emotion so they can’t be all that bad. Just, distracting.

He watched in attempted agony as Tom attempted to swallow, the man forced it to go back down multiple times as his body rejected it.   
“Jesus Christ Tom, surely one knows how to swallow, no?” he had to hold himself back from spitting in disgust on the impudent creature. 

He simply received a glare in reply. Impulsively he raised his gun and shot at one of the quickly clotting bullet holes. Oops. But it was quite funny so he supposed it didn’t really matter. Although, it was surprising when not even a grunt was heard from Tom, until he remembered that he effectively numed everything below his head. Dammit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yo I haven’t posted in months. Sorry for this short update, didn’t have much motivation. Though it’s not like I had much motivation in the first place. Hope this’ll suffice for now until I can properly plan out everything else.
> 
> To explain my absence:  
> Sometimes you lose motivation for little things, and sometimes your life goes fucking boozakoo fucked up and your motivation for everything disappears.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yo get ready for this, warning, this isn’t edited at all y’all. I’m so sorry but this was actually impossible to write because I don’t do anything but sleep usually.

Tom awkwardly lay against the metal table, body gored to shreds, littered with gun wounds and holes and cuts. He saw Tord raise his gun yet again, only feeling the shockwave of the bullet and not the actual shot going through his shoulder.

It was then when he looked up into Tords eyes that he was washed over with a true sense of turmoil. When this had first started he had been nervous, he’d been angry, and frustrated. He’d been a lot of things. But in that moment, as he stared at the man before him, he remembered that they just used to be two men who lived in a house with their friends in the outskirts of London, they had a cat, Tom thinks. 

What was his name? Regan? Ragon? Rion? 

But he supposed that didn’t matter. Because now Tord was taking over the world, thousands of lives at a time, and Tom was at his mercy. 

It was sad, it was tiring, at most it was tragic. And it was that moment that Tom finally gave up, he knew that the bastard would kill him, there was no way around it. He wanted to believe, but that’s hard when you’ve just ingested your own organs and had a sick bastard shoot you multiple times. 

He was ripped from his misery by the sick bastard smiling.   
“Tom, how do you feel? It doesn’t hurt much, no?” Tord was smug, far too smug. “I hope your ready for what I’m about to do. It’ll be your end, but for me? It will be just the beginning. Do not think that I won’t ruin the rest of you”

The hair on Toms neck stood on end, he could feel a chill wash over him despite his numbness. He knew what Tord meant by the rest of them, he just hoped he didn’t already have Edd or Matt. He begged to the god he had given up on long ago that they would escape the commies sick clutches. It felt dramatic thinking like this, but I suppose that’s how normal people act when they’re on their deathbed. 

But he wasn’t normal.  
Not even close.

Somewhere inside of him, a spark, the beginning of a flame, lit. Nonexistent music played through his ears and before he knew what he was doing he was struggling with renewed spirit against his restraints.

Tord raised his eyebrow, what on earth was the idiot doing? Must still be high on the drugs he’d been induced with, at least just a little bit. “Thomas?” his voice came out in a gruff tone, really putting into place how tired Tord was getting. It was like someone had hit the reset button on Toms strength of will, he supposed he’d just have to crush that, wouldn’t he?

Tom stared up at him, fury was clear in his eyes, mixed with something else Tord couldn’t seem to pinpoint. Odd, but he supposed it shouldn’t stop him having his last bit of fun with the man, should it? 

An obscure little grin seemed to find itself on the dictators face, he wasn’t sure how it got there, or when it got there, but it seemed to fit his mood well enough that he left it on. He walked over to the spoon, keeping the same repetitive and robotic military-esk walk cycle he’d had on the way to the small little room of death, and picked up the elegant little spoon.

He didn’t waste his time. 

 

Before Tom could put up any sort of fight or furious rebellion, half of his face had been pinned down by the cold of Tords robot metal arm, the laser on his palm was heating up on Toms cheek.

He stared up at Tord, his flame of fury flickering dangerously close to extinction. The small amount of patience that the red leader had seemed to have gone cold, instead there was nothing but a wicked smile on his scarred face. The full display of his gums and charred teeth, up close nonetheless, was enough for Tom to want to puke. If his body could even do that anymore, he didn’t even know what had happened to his stomach. 

Immense pain shot through Toms body as he realised the smell of burning flesh was starting to fill the small, enclosed room. “Fuck” he breathed out, only for the laser on his cheek to somehow get hotter than it already was.

Tom imagined it might look something like movie gore, it had been a long time since he’d had the resources to see a movie though. His imagination flashed images of flesh dripping like liquid, revealing muscle and bone and blood, lots of blood. He hoped it didn’t look like that.

Tord watched in fascination as the flesh underneath his palm began to grow black and hard, dropping off in little chunks to reveal tender layers of muscle beginning to cook. The bone underneath was still intact, disappointing. But he knew if he went any further Tom would go into shock, and well, that simply wouldn’t be any fun, would it?

Tom felt the immense heat on his cheek die down, leaving his now mangled cheek to continue throbbing under the now slight warmth from the laser. Instead of continuing to inflict Tord was simply agitating, strange. 

He’d almost forgotten about he spoon in Tords flesh hand.

“Thomas? How would you like to know my intentions?”   
He didn’t know if the question was a trap, but his flame, despite it growing quickly smaller, was still there. He began to nod his head.

That’s when the pain started.

 

Tord couldn’t stop cackling, his laughter filled the room, Tom might have laughed too if he hadn’t just been stabbed in the eye with a spoon. He realised that the eye of the spoon was quite sharp, allowing Tord to cut through easier than one might have with a normal, blunt spoon. Tom couldn’t believe that was a genuine sentence he had just thought in that situation.

Tord found it the most hilarious thing he had ever done. Stabbing Thomas’s eye with a sharp spoon? Genius, almost better than his plan to take over the world that had so far succeeded quite well. It dawned on him that his laugh sounded almost like a hyenas, god this was getting funnier by the minute. 

But he had to get back to work, he supposed.

The cackle died down to a little bit of a giggle and eventually fell into a large gleefully sadistic smile. It still gave Tom chills, the bastard.

Unfortunately or fortunately, depending on the opinion you agree with the most, Tom wasn’t distracted by the haunting smile for much longer. 

The spoon began to trace along the inside of his socket, sawing through the many tendons and veins that lead into Toms eye. The pain was immense, just like all the other torture that he’d been induced to. It only occurred to him that he was going to lose sight on one side as his vision was cut off. 

Tord wouldn’t exactly call the scoop clean, but it had worked well enough. He roughly stuck his fingers into the socket and pulled the eyeball out, ignoring the faint whimpers that Thomas let out. Odd, had he finally given up? 

He supposed it was a little disappointing but if he wasn’t fighting anymore then there was really no point in keeping him alive.

Tom watched in a mixture of pain and horror as Tord plopped his eyeball into his mouth, and moved it around as he chewed it like gum. He supposed he shouldn’t have expected anything less of him though. 

Tord swallowed down the mushed up eyeball, it had quickly broken down to be slightly more liquid like as he chewed. He supposed it didn't taste half bad.

“Well Thomas, this has been… amusing. I supposed I should get it over with, don’t worry, it won’t take to long”

There was a moment of stillness, time seemed to slow as Thomas watched in horror at Tords next movements. Tord shoved his robot fist into his chest, and with almost no effort his heart wasn’t in his chest anymore. His last few seconds of life passed in a daze. The last images he would ever know was his warm beating heart, dripping blood and look altogether like a mess, seeming to slip and slide in Tords grip. Almost trying to escape. 

 

Everything went away, and it never came back.

 

 

Tord was almost disappointed, but it had to come to an end eventually. He’d let the clean up crew find him, they’d be discrete and then the room would be fully operational for his next victim in a few hours. He supposed he should visit before it began, he wanted to get in a nice chat. 

He walked out, letting the door slam behind him. Walking through hallways and staircases. Ramps and loops, until he found his way to the bottom.

 

The cell was large, and damp. He had forgotten how long his little victim had been here, long enough to still be alive he supposed. 

In the corner, far at the back, a shape made mostly of cloth crouched. Waiting.

He took another step and felt a smirk grow on his face as the shape pounced, letting his robot arm grip around the victims neck.  
“Hello, Edd”

 

 

 

 

“TRAITOR!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhhh and that ends this fic! And yes, this ending does allude to a future fic. I’m planning to have a collection of these, probably done by 2030 at this rate. The next one will of course be about Edd, although I think I might have a combination of Edd and Matt because I want to dedicate one of the fics to actually explaining this universe. I dunno, there’s a lot to do and plan. School is starting back up for me soon, but I’m gonna try my best to write.
> 
> Again, sorry I basically abandoned everything. I’ve basically been sleeping or just staring at walls for hours so actually doing anything productive these days is pretty rare for me. But I was reading through the comments and they had me genuinely smiling, which was a really nice feeling for once, so I shat this out. The ending was really rushed I’m sorry about that.
> 
> I thank y’all that have stuck with this fic for so long, I know my update schedule is insufferable for how short the chapters are. Have a great 2019 everybody and I hope to see some new and old readers follow me to the next fanfic! I thank you all for the support!

**Author's Note:**

> Ahhhhh and that’s the first chapter done! I know it ends kinda abruptly, sorry about that! I’ll really try to get a second chapter done but no promises, you might be stuck with this f o r e v e r. If this gets enough feedback I might actually continue because good reviews are fuel to the fire! Critique is of course always welcome ;D


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